Red
by 1917
Summary: Gilbert thinks of himself as, well, Prussia—not the GDR. This doesn't exactly sit well with Russia. very slight Russia/Prussia


Prussia was strong. He was _still_ strong, damn it—

Okay, yeah, a lot of really fucking shitty things happen to him sometimes. But he's a country, that's how it works! People die, his people die. His citizens, his _people_, damn it: his people, who make up everything he is, and... well, yeah the government too, huh?

—shit, damn it! He shouldn't be thinking about this crap. He's not thinking about it. He has work to do anyway, not that he wants to, but Russia'd come in earlier with a stack of forms and that sort of smile that meant if they weren't filled out, he'd never hear the end of it. Among other things. So back to work it was.

By this point he could pretty much fill out paperwork on autopilot, focusing just enough to let the questions process and put the right information in. Even so, he sighed loudly, not that there was anyone in the room to hear him, and sucked on the end of his pencil between pages. After a while he kicked his boots off too—no matter how much he'd rather be anywhere else, the papers had to get filled out, so it's not like he was going anywhere.

It was just... economy stuff, never fun. He'd grumble and complain at first but that never got anywhere, not with Russia. The stupid giant basically whacked Prussia upside the head with his government, least he could do was sign off on the plans by himself, right? Yeah. Well. Obviously not. But like hell if bitching would get him anywhere, he'd given up on that... much as it sometimes made him mad at himself. Better pissed off than bleeding, anyway.

This was a train of thought he didn't like following, though, always ended him back up at the same place. Yeah, he had his awesome escape plans—even got together with Poland and Lithuania sometimes to talk about his fucking brilliant ideas to get away from Russia—but the more he thought about leaving this shitty eastern setup, the more he thought about the west and then, well, _West_, and—

... _how_ many zeroes did he just write?

Alright. Break time.

He wasn't feeling up to leaving the room before he finished the papers, wasn't in the mood to deal with _Russia's_ mood. Instead he just stood out of his chair, nudging it aside with his socked foot, stretched and yawned. He'd look out a window if there were one, but no dice. Might as well just walk around the room a bit, air his brains out, get his body back up to speed, and stop thinking about things he couldn't fucking change.

It's really hard to stop thinking about things when you're thinking about not thinking about them. Shit. He doesn't let it get to him, it's just—all this crap, and there's no one who'll listen to him about it—not like he needs to talk about it, not that he even would, just dammit, it'd be nice to know he had someone around who would actually listen to the words coming out of his mouth and not just... _smile_, no matter what, like some creepy doll. That always bothered him.

He misses stuff too. Nothing he thought he would, like bravery and power and industry. Well, those too, much as Russia tries to tell him he still has 'em, sweat of the workers' labor and all that, but what he has now, that's any bum with a shovel, that's not _Prussia_. Nah. What he misses is... pansy shit, he bets Austria would laugh in his fucking face if there wasn't that barbed wire keeping him back—music and writing and art. It's not like it's all gone. He's got books, records, paintings.

But they're all fucking Russia's. Everyone says they're not, says they're the pride of the German people, but he knows better.

That's the thought that's lingering in his mind—that even though the German Democratic Republic is obviously what and who he is, it's more Russia than Prussia—when he recognizes the thump-thump-thump of a fatass in leather boots walking down the hall. He trudges back to his chair like a good dog, crawling into it just in time for the door to swing open.

Trust a communist not to _knock_.

"Mn, little GDR? You are working hard, yes?"

_I'm not little! And my name's Prussia!_ is what he doesn't say. What he says is "...yeah."

"Ah—good, I'm glad!" Russia's still in the doorway with his hand on the knob, and obviously he's smiling, but it looks, what... expectant? Wait, yeah, why the heck is he here? It's not time yet. Russia may be a pain in the ass but at least he generally tries to keep things to schedule. (_Tries_.)

Prussia coughs, an interjection. "Whaddaya want? Uh. Comrade."

"Hm...?" Russia's voice, as usual, is full of saccharine shit. Does anyone ever fall for his innocent act? Prussia doubts it, so he wonders why even bother. But then it's not like Russia has a habit of making any sense. "I only wanted to check on you... would be irresponsible of me to ignore my darlings for too long! You understand, of course."

Of course. _Of course_. Yeah, because he doesn't have an option! GDR, GDR, he's Russia's precious little one, so he understands. Like a good dog. Arf.

Russia's not just coming here to check up on him, there's no way. That's not how Russia is—okay, it is a little—Russia's controlling and psychotic, so it's not that far of a stretch that he'd poke his giant nose into every little aspect of Prussia's life. It's never just that, though, if it were then he'd back the hell out of the room right now, but he won't, he—

—he's shutting the door behind himself. Mmmhm. Fuck.

"To tell the truth, mn..." Russia makes like he's choosing his words carefully. Prussia keeps his mouth drawn thin, keeps himself from saying anything in response. "I'm a little worried about you, I think." He thinks. Right. "That is—I have noticed you are... sensitive, lately? Yes?" Okay, what the hell is Russia talking about now? He's definitely been following the rules lately. It's too little against too much to bother going against them. He doesn't realize he's biting his lower lip until Russia reaches a hand out and touches his cheek, which makes him recoil.

Which—which makes Russia's smile twitch away, just a bit. But like hell if Prussia hasn't grown to recognize those slight changes in emotion. Russia losing his façade is simultaneously the best and the most worrying thing in the world. "GDR, please, I would like to help..." Bull. Shit. Russia helping is as likely as brewing beer out of rocks. Which, come to think of it, he's surprised he hasn't been asked to do at some point.

"Look," Prussia finally spits out. "I mean—no. I'm fine, okay? I'm almost done with these papers, so you can... go. Away. And I'll bring them back, completely absolutely perfectly filled out... later! Deal?" His voice is clipped, harsh, and even as he says it he regrets it coming out like that, because yeah he's strong enough to get through Russia's anger for sure, but it's still something he tends to prefer to avoid.

Somehow, Russia simply shakes his head. "My little GDR... ah. Shh. You're strong, yes? Stupid, sometimes, misguided, but..."

No matter how long he's been stuck with him, Russia's half-assed attempts at 'compliments' always cut Prussia a little. Christ, where's his brother when he needs him? He says basically the exact same thing, but somehow it manages to sound so much _nicer_, doesn't leave him feeling like a neglected pile of crap. "'Course I'm strong. I'm awesome! Don't be dumb," he says with all his usual enthusiasm, but it doesn't sound quite right, even to him.

Russia giggles, he swears on his life Russia _giggles_. "Of course... mm. Walk with me?" Russia's extending a hand now, and it'd be a really dumb move not to take it, although he has to stand up first. He moves to slip his boots back on, but Russia simply extends his hand further, so... so fuck it, looks like he's going to walk down the hall in socks. Okay.

They're both silent for a bit, Prussia because there's nothing he wants to say to Russia except maybe _stop squeezing my hand so hard_ but he's not going to do that. Russia's humming but it's not a tune Prussia can place or cares to ask after; it's nothing of his, he knows that much. Eventually Russia cuts it out, but even then it takes another couple minutes for the big lunk to speak up—and Prussia still doesn't know where exactly they're headed, where Russia is dragging him, and why he's not being left to finish his paperwork.

"You miss your brother?" The question sounds calm but there's always barbs hidden somewhere...

"Yeah, but—"

"But, GDR?"

Shit. Shitshitshit. But what? But he knows he's not supposed to, obviously. Goes against everything Russia is trying to accomplish with him. He's not Prussia, he's not Germany's brother, he's _the GDR_, new and separate and strong.

(He's older than centuries. He's always been strong. Always.)

"Buuut it was necessary to get away from him!" Silence. "...or something like that. Probably." Russia nods. Okay, good.

"I miss people as well, you know. My people are dear to me. But... as you've said." Wait, Russia's grip is getting stronger, what the hell? He nodded! And he's agreeing! What the hell did he do wrong now? "Is sometimes necessary to... get away from them. Or them away from you. To," and Russia pauses like he's faking actually _having emotion_, "that is, for the benefit of the majority... yes?"

He doesn't respond. Because he doesn't know what to say, yeah, but mostly because that pisses him off. Who _benefited_ from cutting him off from his brother? Fucking who?

Apparently Russia caught onto his anger, 'cause he just keeps saying the same crap. "So, I am thinking... that perhaps it would be best to get GDR away from all his work for a while. Rest! And, stop worrying! Because GDR is part of a family now, and we will be here for you, okay?" Russia finally lets go of his hand—to reach for a doorknob and open it into a bedroom. Oh. ..._oh_. "Is no reason to be so stressed, because... I will take care of you."

No. _Hell_ no he's not going in there and letting Russia do whatever he wants, and—there's a hand on his shoulder, Russia's— "Don't FUCKING touch me!"

Russia has the balls to let out a surprised noise, as if he's surprised that Prussia doesn't want to just go along with his stupid perverted plans. "Get off, leggo! I'm not gonna let you do more to me than I fucking have to let you—"

"GDR."

"What, what the hell is your problem, what do you want? I'm not going to—"

"GDR."

…oh. Yeah. Damn, he did it again, didn't he? So used to being able to say anything he wanted, and what could anyone do about it? He was _Prussia_ and if you had a problem with his opinions then you had a problem with not getting your ass kicked. He could be loud, let himself be known, he didn't even have to get into fights if he didn't WANT to, because who was gonna mess with him and his army? Yeah, that was a while back, wasn't it? "GDR… I'd like you to go in and lie down, okay?" Russia asked, with this look of worry that Prussia almost believed. But he caught himself. Still, he, uh, didn't quite feel like crossing the line here, any more than he already had… so.

"Yeah. Fine. Okay." He didn't want to, and he definitely could have fought his way out of it if he felt like it, okay, don't get the wrong idea—but he _was_ fucking exhausted anyway, and a bed was a bed, right? So he walked in and flung himself right on the mattress. Unfortunately, Russia had to follow. He heard the door click shut first, felt the weight on the mattress second, and tried to mumble his disapproval, but it was muffled in the sheets.

Was that a giggle again?

"My concern isn't misplaced, I hope..?" Russia asks.

He grunts, rolls over. "No, I." Fuck. "I guess not."

"Ah…" He's sliding towards Russia, because the mattress is bending further down, because Russia's moving towards him. Hand on his cheek—tries to ignore it, deal with it. "You can talk to me, yes? I'm here for you, GDR…" Like that's what he wants. Russia is the last person he wants.

But he's talking anyway, it seems. "This… sucks."

"Sucks?"

The hand on his cheek rubs gently. It's almost nice. It would be nice if it were someone else. "Yeah, sucks. I lost my identity and my leaders and now everything is fucking red and I don't know what's going on, okay? It SUCKS. It's so far from awesome. It's the, what, like… the opposite of awesome! It sucks!"

Russia's quiet. He's not sure if that's good or bad. He never really is, honestly. But he's not getting whacked upside the head, so—so far so good?

"I know how strange it is to get used to such a drastic change…" Russia's hand stills, then moves off of his face. "To go from one system to another, one leader to another, one… country, to another. This is your concern, I believe?" He nods. Russia doesn't understand what that _means_, never will, not for him. Yeah, Russia maybe went through a similar change on the outside, but he _wanted_ it, it was his fucking revolution. Not Prussia's. "But please, GDR, think of how good things will be!"

"_What_ things?" he snaps.

"Everything..!" And now he's being scooped up, pulled all at once upright and against Russia's side, making him grunt and frown but sit there all the same. "You must change governments to become a stronger nation. And you must change your name so your people believe that change… and with your people's belief, in time they will _keep_ you strong, keep everyone strong…"

He doesn't buy it. He knows his people are suffering. Can't say what they want to, can't read, think, eat what they want to. Everything is _red_. For fuck's sake. His eyes.

(His eyes have always been red. Always. And it wasn't his fault the meaning of that changed.)


End file.
